


whatever you love best

by bubutterfly



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry I wrote this, Lots of Crying, M/M, angst main dish, fluff/comfort side dish, idk what else there is, kind of?, no beta we die like men, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubutterfly/pseuds/bubutterfly
Summary: Perhaps it’s the ache in their chests or the fact that they’re both breathing through punctured lungs and broken ribs, but nothing fills the space between them but their rasping sighs and desolation, and neither of them comment on the fact that a damaged throat is the least of their worries."We're not getting out," Oikawa says with finality.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	whatever you love best

> _ Some say thronging cavalry, some say foot soldiers, / others call a fleet the most beautiful _ _ /  _ _ of sights the dark earth offers, _

“It’s going to collapse.” 

Beneath them, the floor is webbed with deep, unstable cracks. More rumbles echo with the promise of dust laden destruction, until those, too, subside to silence. Pleas and yells from the unfortunate have long since ebbed off, and no trace of survivors remain. 

The dust that fills Oikawa’s lungs cling to his throat, making speech difficult and breathing an unpleasant sensation. He smiles anyways when Iwaizumi gently places a lingering hand on his shoulder in silent worry. Wetness lines both of their lashes, and Oikawa isn’t sure if it’s from the dust in the air or from something else. 

Both of their frames are lined with weariness that lingers, and the slivers of light from the fissures in the walls illuminate their tiredness. 

“Is your throat okay?” With no response to his comment, Iwaizumi’s hand is a warm presence over the grime that mars Oikawa’s shoulder, yet it serves to do little to calm his heart that jackrabbits in his chest. 

Suppressing a laugh and a hacking cough, Oikawa shakes his head at him. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

If Iwaizumi sees through his poorly hidden lie, he doesn’t mention it. Perhaps it’s the ache in their chests or the fact that they’re both breathing through punctured lungs and broken ribs, but nothing fills the space between them but their rasping sighs and desolation, and neither of them comment that a damaged throat is the least of their worries.

“I-I don’t--” Oikawa’s breath runs out before he can finish, and the knocking coughs that shake his frame bring up nothing but blood and pain. His pulse is running, jumping in a frantic rhythm that betrays his calm front. Iwaizumi is silent above him as he hunches over, suppressing the stabbing jolts of pain that accompany each breath. Moments pass and Oikawa gathers himself, shoulders shaking and pain now only a backdrop to the warmth at his side. 

Looking up, Oikawa’s breath catches at the sight of Iwaizumi’s face. His features are set in something distinctly final, and tracks of moisture that draw clean lines through the dust on his face drip past his chin and onto the crackled floor. The expression makes his heart sink, but he gives Iwaizumi a genuine smile, the edges lined with both sadness and resolve. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa jokes as he reaches up to place a hand on the side of Iwaizumi's face. Something in his chest lurches as Iwaizumi cracks a smile at his tone, so unfitting of the imminent death that hangs over them. 

“Of course not.” The words slip out easily in practiced rhythm, and Oikawa’s not sure if it’s a lie or not, until more tears gather in Iwaizumi’s eyes. They fall quietly down his face, and Oikawa reaches to wipe them away with both hands as they continue to tumble. His hands rub at the wet cheeks with unusual carefulness. He notes with quiet thought that his own eyes are growing blurry from moisture, and he blinks rapidly to keep Iwaizumi clear in his view. 

Oikawa’s eyes trace his dark hair, mussed from the confusion of the damage and speckled with fallout and blood. He follows his fingers around the contours of his face, eyes tracing Iwaizumi’s nose bridge and wet cheekbones. Oikawa’s fingertips ghost over his lips in butterfly touches before running up the sides of his jaw. His hands return to their position in wiping away the tears that run down his face, but his eyes fix on Iwaizumi’s, burning with something akin to sadness and determination. Oikawa drinks in as much of him as he can, searing into his memory the way Iwaizumi’s face fits into the curves of his hand. 

As Iwaizumi pulls him close, Oikawa smiles. He does his best to breathe, watching with sore, bated breaths as they draw closer until their noses are lightly touching. For a moment, nothing exists but the two of them, complete with bleeding lungs and fractured bones. Their foreheads press together, and wetness from both their tears dampen their noses as Oikawa closes his eyes and shifts his balance. Iwaizumi’s breath fans out in shallow brushes on his lips. He revels in the contact, even as the roll of dust between them grates on his skin like sandpaper. A gentle hand cards through his hair, twisting and weaving strands out of tangles and brushing them behind his ear. His lashes catch on Iwaizumi’s wet cheeks, and they breathe in each other’s strained breaths that taste of the tangy iron of blood and regret. Still, familiar hesitance lingers in their limbs as the shaky rise and fall of their chests mark the only movement in the room. Breaths mingle, and Oikawa feels the bow of his lip brush something soft. He thinks of how easy it would be to lean in, but instead he remains still, eyes closed and drowning in the closeness. 

Something shifts, and Iwaizumi’s head drops to rest itself on Oikawa’s shoulder, the weight heavy yet grounding. Wetness seeps into Oikawa’s shirt, liquid warmth in the strange lightheadedness that surrounds him now. Oikawa heaves a sigh, sounding a little heavier and more melancholy than he would have expected. 

“We’re not getting out,” he says, voice just shy of a whisper. It’s not a question, but a resigned affirmation that they’ve both seem to come to accept. Iwaizumi hums an acknowledgement into his shoulder, still leaking tears silently. His hands grip at Oikawa’s arms, and they tremble slightly before relaxing into a soft caress that draws sparks of comfort up his limbs. Oikawa wants to pull him up and see his face again, to see once more how Iwaizumi gazes at him as if he painted the moon in the sky and the sunrise in the morning, as if to replicate the unsaid words they’d both swallowed back continuously. But instead he lets the weight rest on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi comments, and his voice is laced with finality and gentleness. He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for exactly. Maybe it’s for the lost time and words unsaid between them, or the fear that lingers even now; he doesn’t know. His face is tucked into the crook of Oikawa’s neck, lashes kissing the tender junction where his neck slopes into his shoulder.

“Save it for later.” 

Oikawa looks up as the ceiling cracks open and the floor crumbles away. Iwaizumi’s presence envelopes him and comforts him in a way that slows his heart to a calm, steady pulse. He feels weightless, chest light yet heavy at the same time, even as throbs of pain dance down the entire length of his body. 

_ See you soon,  _ he thinks, drowning in the weight of Iwaizumi next to him as the ceiling falls in on them and the ground tilts beneath their feet. 

> _ but I say it’s what /  _ _ ever you love best. _
> 
> _ -The Anactoria Poem,  _ Sappho

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when i read sad stuff and listen to sad music : ' )   
> anyways i hope you enjoyed? if you didn't that's fine too ig?  
> thanks anyways <3


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